


i want to be with you everywhere

by ohcinnamon



Category: Smosh
Genre: M/M, Pining, commission, here you go, i hope you like this jo!, you said you wanted so random era baby gays so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 13:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: And then “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac comes on the radio, and of course Matthew turns it up — he’s gay, he legally has to blow out the speakers when they’re listening to Fleetwood Mac — and Shayne is kind of dumbfounded, sitting there and listening to the lyrics.or: fleetwood mac is really going to be the death of shayne.





	i want to be with you everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> so... welcome to another commission! thanks for requesting this one jo, i love you. also, the only thing i could listen to while writing this was "everywhere" by fleetwood mac, hence the title (and the general tone of the entire fic). 
> 
> thank you for reading, and if you're interested in commissioning me to write something for you, my info is [right here!](https://damienlost.tumblr.com/post/175847469527/hey-guys-im-struggling-a-bit-financially-so-i)

“Hey, are you ready to go home?”

Shayne can barely hear Damien’s voice over the thumping bass of the loud music in the club, so he moves in closer, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

Damien leans into him, his arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably. He looks tired, stiff, like he’s been here for too long and wants to go back to a place where he doesn’t have to pretend. Shayne knows him well enough to infer that just from looking at him. “I said, are you ready to go home? I think I’m about at that point, but, like. I wanted to check with you.”

“It’s your birthday,” Shayne responds, getting right up next to his ear so he can hear him. Normally, he’s the one that argues for more personal space, but… he’s drunk. He doesn’t care. Plus, Damien’s breath is warm, fanning against his cheek, and it’s kind of a nice sensation. “You make the decisions. Whenever you wanna go, I go.”

“I think I’m ready, then,” Damien says, smiling softly. “I only really came out because people wanted me to. And as fun as it’s been, I want to go home.”

“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Shayne exclaims, standing up way too fast and seeing stars. Damien gently clutches his arms to steady him, snickering softly to himself, and Shayne lets himself be led out of the club and into the night. It’s cold, but that’s okay; the November chill is welcome. It had been stuffy amongst all of those people, and he’d much rather be out here with Damien, anyway, even if he is cold. Maybe he can talk Damien into giving up his jacket.

It’s Damien’s 21st birthday, which is what had called for such a celebration in the first place. Normally, this kind of thing isn’t really Damien’s forte — he does a lot better at small gatherings, never one to stick to a party scene. He doesn’t even drink, really, but the cast wanted him to at least come out for a _little while_ so they could celebrate with him, and, ever the one to give in to peer pressure, he caved and said yes. He’s been slightly awkward all night, being one of the only sober ones at the club, but he manages.

Shayne, however, is on the opposite end of the spectrum. He _does_ drink, and is, in fact, a _whiz_ at charming people into giving him free drinks — even without a fake ID — so he’s slightly tipsy by the time they decide to call it a night. It’s not like he’s _drunk_ drunk, there’s just a pleasant level of warmth and happiness all around him. Of course, that could also be from Damien’s arm hovering around his waist, helping him walk straight. “Hey, you know what I think? _I_ think we’re _hungry_ and we should go get _food._ Hey, do you like walking? I think I like walking.” He then proceeds to nearly faceplant into the sidewalk.

Damien grabs his arm to steady him, chuckling slightly under his breath. His smile is easy, soft, his eyes doing that thing where they get all squinty from the width of his grin — the thing that Shayne loves a lot, though it’s not like he’d ever say it out loud. “Easy, tiger. Let’s just get back home for now, all right? We can get to food once I’m sure you’re not gonna throw it back up.”

Shayne pretends to roll his eyes, but he’s not actually mad. It’s Damien’s _birthday,_ he’s not allowed to be mad at him. That’s, like, breaking a cardinal birthday rule, which Shayne does not do. “All right, party pooper, whatever you want.”

Damien leads him to a bench and calls a friend to pick them up — Matthew? Shayne thinks he hears Damien say Matthew, but he can’t be sure — and keeps Shayne occupied while they wait. They keep counting the colors of the cars that go by; Damien picks blue, and Shayne picks red, and they start a little competition to see who can “get the most cars” before they get picked up. After ten minutes, it becomes painfully obvious that Damien is winning, but that’s okay. It’s his birthday, and even if it wasn’t, Shayne would probably let him win anyway.

As they wait, Shayne can feel himself start to sober up, little by little, and once they finally get a ride after half an hour, he can walk without help. He kind of wishes he couldn’t, though, because he’s sorely missing the warm, fuzzy feeling he got from Damien’s arm around his waist. Maybe that was just a product of being tipsy — but then again, maybe it wasn’t. He’s not quite sure anymore.

And then they’re on their way home, and Damien is babbling to Matthew about the party, and Shayne realizes he’s staring but he doesn’t _care_ , and Damien is pretty, and he can blame it on the alcohol, and he just _wants_ something he’s not even sure he’s allowed to have. And then “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac comes on the radio, and _of course_ Matthew turns it up — he’s gay, he legally has to blow out the speakers when they’re listening to Fleetwood Mac — and Shayne is kind of dumbfounded, sitting there and listening to the lyrics. He’s the only one not singing, but he’s listening to the other two half-sing, half-shout “ _I want to be with you everywhere,”_ and he’s having a quiet epiphany because that’s literally exactly how he’s feeling.

“Hey,” Damien says softly once the song is over, staring at him from across the backseat, breaking him out of his sudden internal crisis. The city lights wash over his face, the reflections of the different colors flickering in his eyes, and in this unfamiliar place, Shayne doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at home. “Thank you for tonight. You made it a really good birthday.”

“Of course, you deserve it,” Shayne says, feeling a smile quirk up the corners of his lips, because it makes him happy when Damien is happy. _I like you. Why wouldn’t I?_ He probably shouldn’t say that, though, so instead he says, “I think you’re my best friend.”

He watches Damien melt at the sudden sentiment, gaze going soft, and he thinks about just how easy it would be to lean across the middle seat and kiss him. The thought alone makes his heart race and his palms sweat. He’s never really felt this way about a “best friend” before. He’s not sure he’s supposed to. _God, I need to go to bed._ “I think you’re my best friend, too.”

That stays with him until they get home, because it feels a lot more significant than it should; it’s not like he told the guy he’s in love or some dumb shit like that, jesus, he could never. But it does feel like _something_ , like this weird, unspoken milestone that they’d only really half-realized they’d crossed by now. He fumbles his way through a goodbye when they get to their apartment, and gives his keys to Damien because he can’t really think well enough to figure out which one he’s supposed to use right now. He’s having a… gay crisis. _Grisis. Gay-sis? Yeah. Whatever._

Damien sheds his jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch, and walks into their kitchen to grab a drink, and, now that he’s alone for a second, Shayne can finally put his finger on the nagging feeling that he hasn’t been able to name ever since they walked out of the club.

This feels exactly like the part after a really good date, where, if it _were_ a date, he’d grab Damien’s hand and kiss him, and after they’d said “goodnight” and the front door closed, he’d have a minor freakout and not be able to stop smiling. Except it’s not — it’s the part where two best friends go back to their apartment after a party, and they’re standing in their living room, and Damien is pushing a water bottle toward him because he doesn’t want Shayne to wake up with a hangover tomorrow. This is nothing like a first date, so Shayne’s heart really needs to stop doing the thing where it _thinks_ it is.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” Damien says, glancing over at him with a gentleness that doesn’t make it any easier to stop feeling whatever this is. “You good, man?”

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks,” Shayne says, faking a yawn. “I think I’m gonna hit the sack too, actually.”

“Good,” Damien answers, pausing before his bedroom door. “Thanks again for tonight. I really appreciate you.”

Shayne smiles back, giving him a half-wave, only burying his face in his hands when he hears the click of the door closing. God, he’s in a lot deeper than he thought. He’s fucked. He’s really, truly fucked.

When he makes it to his bedroom, he falls face-first into bed, groaning into his pillow. He’s still got “Everywhere” stuck in his head, and that’s just the icing on the cake, isn’t it? _Damn you, Fleetwood Mac._


End file.
